Authors: Peggy A. Edelheit
No Hope In New Hope
A Samantha Jamison Mystery
Peggy A. Edelheit
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
No Hope In New Hope, A Samantha Jamison Mystery, Book 7
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Copyright © 2013 Peggy A. Edelheit
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Other Books by Peggy A. Edelheit
The Samantha Jamison Mystery Series
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Chase your Dreams
Every Day is a Blessing
With Love to my husband
My biggest supporter and confidant
& My three sons
& Special Thanks To
Steven & Claudia Jackson
Steven & Terri Himes
No Hope In New Hope
I Sure Didn’t Expect (This) Unexpected
“Aren’t you that author who writes all those fast-paced, can’t-put-down mysteries?” tall, dark and handsome asked.
Pleased at being recognized, I stopped and smiled.
He was impeccably dressed: pricey suit, polished shoes. His Louis Vuitton tie sported a fresh red stain:
About to thank him for his nice compliment, I backed up a step when a gun suddenly appeared aimed directly at me.
…Maybe that stain wasn’t sauce after all.
“What is this about?” I asked. “I think you’re confused.”
Flinching like I’d hit him, he then leaned in menacingly.
I cleared my throat. “…Okay, let me rephrase that. You might have me confused,” stressing, “
“…But you solve mysteries, right?”
“You do realize that
isn’t true, don’t you?”
His face flushed. “Do I look that stupid?”
“Not with that gun in your hand, you don’t.”
“You are Samantha Jamison, correct?”
Should I answer truthfully?
“…Why are you asking?”
“And you’re Clay’s broad, right?” he continued.
That stopped me…
Exactly who was this guy?
“Well?” he asked, impatiently, tapping his foot.
“Give me a minute,” I said, holding up my index finger.
“You’ve both solved several capers, right?” he asked.
How did he know so much about us? Stay vague…
“Look, I’m no detective or sleuth, I’m just an author.”
I knew some readers out there may not like my personal writing style,
but this was taking it too far: almost surreal.
I pinched myself hard just to make sure this was happening.
“Ouch!” I yelled, reaching my tolerance limit.
…I guess I’ll never write a book that pleases everyone.
“Hey, read the parts you like,” I said, rubbing my arm.
“Are you crazy?” he asked,
like I was the nut.
“I heard some authors are flaky, but you? I had no idea.”
…Everybody’s a critic.
The guy’s intensity and impatience were mystifying and there was still that lethal issue of his gun between us.
He whipped out his cell phone, scrolled and held it up in front of me.
It was a shot of me
I took the clueless route, stalling for some time until I could think how to make my exit…
you know, run.
“Why all the questions? Why are you asking about this guy, Clay, and pointing that gun at me?”
“Tell me that’s not the two of you!” he demanded.
“I admit, it looks provocative,” I finally conceded.
“So you are Samantha Jamison, correct?”
“And if you’re right, what exactly do you want?”
“I want what’s mine, that’s what! And right now!”
He surely wasn’t thinking of me personally, was he?
I heard a click: his gun’s hammer. I winced
Hold on. Before I go further with this story, it might help if I take you back to when the whole thing first started…
Backing Up For The Backdrop
I was standing on the bridge connecting New Hope, Pennsylvania and Lambertville, New Jersey, taking in the wide river views north and south of me. Due to a recent rain, the Delaware River was rippling at a fast clip, so the boaters hadn’t returned. The tourists shopping both sides of the bridge were sidestepping around my slow pace as I headed back toward New Hope, enjoying my
My full leg cast was off from my trip to Switzerland: the setting of
Death Knell In The Alps
, my last mystery. Still edgy when it came to the sound of bells, I turned to look when a church bell chimed nearby. It would be some time before I forget
vacation and my near brush with death.
I sipped my coffee from Starbucks: a trendy pick-me-up in a trendy historic village Clay suggested for our romantic getaway. I was surprised by the heavy traffic of families, motorcyclists, antique, local art and craft admirers, and all those interested in immersing themselves in a little bit of history. I heard both towns had great restaurants too.
Some romantic rendezvous.
My first surprise came when I found out we’d be guests of Clay’s friends, Chris and Alicia Worth, at their old stone French house.
I was already settled in the apartment over their garages minus Clay, who was delayed once again. Chris and Alicia lived north of New Hope and owned Worth Gallery in the busy downtown tourist area. Since I
in first, and the two were usually at their gallery, they dropped me off to wander the town and get acclimated to the area until Clay arrived, while they met with some clients. I’d see their art gallery later with Clay.
Clay and I go way back to Highlands, North Carolina. You see, after my husband was killed under suspicious circumstances, I needed to find out who was responsible. That’s where I met Clay, who lived close enough down the mountain to be considered my neighbor. He also owned a bookstore in town. Later on I learned of his sideline: being a footloose private investigator with an iffy network of contacts. So, did I trust him after all this time? Not as far as I could spit. But I’d never let that stop me from having great
moments with him …
He was hot!
Being well versed in how Clay’s mind worked since I’ve known him, doubt always hovered.
This trip was
So in spite of Clay’s relationship with these friends of his, I would remain skeptical until proven wrong.
Of course, I’m suspicious of just about everything to begin with: hence the mystery novelist in me constantly stumbling into situations that didn’t necessarily serve my best interests. I just had to know the
behind everything. Otherwise it drove me crazy until I did. Would this be one of those occasions? This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.
Where was that romantic escape I was promised?